


Black, Red and Gold

by Fledhyris



Series: End Times [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark Sam Winchester, Demon Dean Winchester, M/M, Nightmares, Season/Series 15 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 16:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21479527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fledhyris/pseuds/Fledhyris
Summary: Sam has another nightmare, but this one is different. Through the darkness and the depravity shines a tiny glimmer of hope...
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: End Times [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592140
Comments: 19
Kudos: 69





	Black, Red and Gold

Sam is sitting, sprawled out sideways on a couch in the bunker library. Nondescript jacket, plaid shirt and jeans. Dean lies between his legs, relaxed, one knee cocked. He’s leaning back against Sam’s stomach, his head tilted to look up as Sam looks down. They seem absorbed in one another, an image of tender domesticity. Perhaps a little more intimate than usual, but it’s a far cry from the recent spate of brutal animosity that tears through his dreams like razor wire.

Unless Dean is dead..?

No, there’s movement. Sam reaches into a bowl on the table beside him, brings something to Dean’s mouth, bright like candy. Dean’s throat stretches as he reaches up, plucks the tidbit from his brother’s fingers with his lips; licks and then sucks the digits as Sam twines his other hand into his short cropped hair. The bulge in Dean’s jeans is prominent, if you look for it.

His viewpoint pans around like a camera tracking on a film set, and now he can see around the back of the couch, where a man lies broken on the floor. Limbs in the familiar, disorganised tangle of a violent death. He’s a hunter, Sam knows him, though not well; Mark, he thinks his name is. Was. Red soaks the denim of his shirt to purple, and a jagged hole gapes in his chest, ribs poking up like a rack of lamb around the absence of a heart.

Sam dips his hand back into the bowl, fishes out another morsel. It looks like raw meat, crimson and glistening, and it stains his fingertips like sin. He smiles suddenly; a one sided smirk, secretive and hungry, cruel. His hand tightens in Dean’s hair, pulling his head back as he teases him with the gobbet of flesh, making him arch and strain to reach. Dean hisses, his mouth twisting into a snarl, and Sam laughs and pops the treat into his own mouth. Then he plunges forward, smashing their lips together. Holding the meat between his teeth, he shares it, allowing Dean to nip away shreds before Sam bites at his brother’s lips, worrying him as Dean did the morsel. Beads of scarlet drip down Dean’s chin and stain Sam’s mouth a cherry red, Dean’s blood mingling with that of the ravaged scrap of heart.

A scream sounds suddenly in the distance, from the direction of the secret dungeon where they lock down demons. It is less a scream of pain or anguish than a savage howl of fury, wordless and crazed. Both Sam and Dean look up at the sound, ceasing their perverse kissing, and stare towards the door of the library. Sam’s eyes flash, filming over yellow as sulphur, lion-like, predatory; and Dean’s eyes shutter with an inky blackness.

Sam lets go of Dean’s hair and raises his hand to his shoulder. He presses his thumb, slowly and deliberately, into the fleshy hollow just below his clavicle. “You be quiet,” he says softly, addressing the distant outrage. “You got your ending. Blood and death, that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

The raging howls cut off on a suspicious sob of pain as Sam grinds down into his own flesh. He smirks again, and Dean’s smile is a mirror image, as they tip their faces back towards one another and Sam licks the blood from his brother’s lips before taking him in a passionate kiss. He traces his bloodstained fingers over the column of Dean’s throat, down the line of shirt buttons and over the top of his thigh. He rests it a moment, lightly cupping the swelling beneath the fabric, then clenches his fist like a vice. Dean roars, muffled, into Sam’s mouth and surges up, grasping Sam’s head in both hands and pulling him down more firmly in an ecstasy of pained arousal.

The dreamer Sam awakens, gasping and drenched with sweat, his groin throbbing. That was… different. Disturbing, for sure, and in so many ways; but at least it makes a change from them constantly killing each other. And though he hopes that this future will never come to pass, just as fervently as he does for every nightmare that has plagued him since he shot God, he is not oblivious to the one sliver of promise the dream holds out. 

Somehow, even though they turned evil, this Sam and Dean managed to defeat Chuck. By staying together; working together, not turning on one another as the author intended. That thought buoys him, filling him with confidence for the first time in weeks.

Maybe, after all, they have a chance.

If they can just avoid turning to the dark side.


End file.
